


broken hinges on my casket

by perfectteeth



Series: im sorry johnny knoxville [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drug Use, Implied Sibling Incest, M/M, cigarette burns, frank is a masochist but passes it off as being a rowdy boy, i talk about the guy who ate a geko at one point, just guys being dudes, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectteeth/pseuds/perfectteeth
Summary: A line drawn in the sand Gerard knows will be crossed, just for him to draw another, until they’ve reached the edge of the cliff and go tumbling off, hand in hand.i have brain worms, here’s frank in a shock collar
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way/Mikey Way, Gerard Way/Mikey Way
Series: im sorry johnny knoxville [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762132
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	broken hinges on my casket

**Author's Note:**

> xXstaystillXx was talking about frank in a shock collar and then i couldn’t stop thinking about van days jackass challenges so. here’s.... that
> 
> title from obvious blase by the used because heartwork do be hitting these days

Gerard was the one who started it.

Much like everything else, Gerard was the one who started it, and it was barely anything at first. Pretty tame stuff, just the three of them doing Dust-Off in the back of the van, Gerard’s laugh peeling through his teeth like paint chips, lead paint, toxic and sweet.

“You ever put a cigarette out on yourself, Frankie?”

He already feels like he’s dying, yet more alive than ever, empty and full all at once, and he’s laughing, nodding, but he wants it like he’s starving, feels his teeth grinding and jaw straining, like coming down off of amphets when you’ve taken too many but not enough, like he’s filled with bleach powder instead spinal fluid, buzzing somewhere behind his teeth, desperate for something he didn’t even realize he wanted. 

Frank ends up on his back, Gerard’s weight knocking the wind out of him as he keeps lighting the same cigarette and putting it out on his collarbone hard enough to blister. Frank laughs so hard he cries, while Mikey watches with an unreadable expression.

That night, when Frank takes too hard a pull of the Dust-Off can and starts to black out, he bargains with God, says he’ll never take another hit, swears he’ll stop doing drugs, stop fucking around if He lets him live. The second he jolts back to reality, Gerard’s already pressing the can back to his lips. Frank inhales.

And just like everything else Gerard does, it snowballs faster than Frank even notices it starting. Each note of consent Frank gives is taken as a challenge. A line drawn in the sand Gerard knows will be crossed, just for him to draw another, until they’ve reached the edge of the cliff and go tumbling off, hand in hand.

And that’s probably how he got here, right? Sitting in a Waffle House with a shock collar wrapped around his throat.

He’s sleepless and caked in sweat, staring at Gerard, pressed between Ray and Worm as they argue as if nothing’s wrong, as if Frank isn’t hopped like a live wire, jumper cables. Spontaneous combustion, flesh eating bacteria, that guy whose body rotted from the inside out after eating a gecko at a party, he was dared to. He was dared to. It was a Christmas party, the kids were all there, he was sober, it was just a fucking joke, but he did it, and he died. Rat lungworm disease, something like that. With the way Gerard looks at him sometimes, Frank isn’t sure that would be so bad.

Gerard is staring and Frank thinks about how you can add oil to a molotov cocktail, gasoline, how it makes the fire sticky, make it cling to every surface, when he says:

“Is anyone gonna fuckin’ turn it on? Or are you all pussying out?”

Frank cringes when it leaves his mouth not as a taunt, but a request, and Ray lets out a snort, fitting a finger under the collar. Frank had no idea it was loose enough for that, thought it was already tight enough to to pop his head clean off.

“If we do it in here, they’re gonna kick us out. Chill, Frankie, it’ll be fucking hilarious. We’ll do it outside. Mikey’s gonna film it, aren’t you, Mikes?”

There’s something too casual about the way Ray’s voice hits his ears, like it’s just a fucking joke, which it is, it is a fucking joke, boys being boys, god, why is Frank sweating so much? This was his idea. This was his idea, he came up with it, he thought it would be fucking hilarious. It was his idea because there’s no fucking way in hell he can convince anyone, even himself, that a just look in Gerard’s eyes had the syllables to say “let’s get you in a shock collar.”

He grumbles incoherently and takes a hit of whatever Mikey’s got on his pinky, as if that won’t make the problem entirely worse.

They’re parked in an empty field in the middle of fuck-all nowhere Maryland. There’s something so performative about going somewhere secluded that makes Frank’s nerves feel thick and prickly, sticking a fork in the toaster, white hot and metallic, jumper cables, jumper cables.

The rest of the guys are all piled in the back of the van, doors swung wide, cracking jokes and drinking. Gerard’s thumbing the remote absentmindedly in his fingers while Frank just stands there like the field is a stage, bouncing on his heels, feeling stupidly vulnerable and raw, like he’s a kid again and the only one not in on the joke, taking it way too seriously. Like the football team laughing at gay porn and he’s the only one palming himself through his pajamas.

Maybe Mikey can tell, because he tosses him a beer, a switchblade. Frank rolls his eyes, but still stabs the bottom of the can and presses it to his lips, choking on the lukewarm bitterness of it. He slides his thumb over the hole to cough raspily, wiping his lips.

“Are you gonna fucking-“

He actually blacks out a little the first time, even if he wouldn’t admit it. When he comes to, he’s on his side, writhing in the dirt, screaming in pain, shirt soaked through with Pabst. Frank knows they’re all laughing, clutching their stomachs as Gerard turns the voltage up, but he can’t hear it, just feels it vibrating behind his lips. He’s shaking, and god he’s going to pass out, he’s sure of it, feels like two knives sliding through his trachea, wire through clay slicing his chest open, his entire body is fucking numb and he feels everything, jumper cables, sticky fire, he’s eating the fucking geko, he swears he’ll never do it again, and when it stops it feels like he’s been injected with Icy Hot.

Frank lays flat on his back, panting, the summer sun beating down on him, shaking with the aftershocks, pride bubbling out of his throat, hysterical laughter as he realizes he fucking _did_ it before he sees Gerard standing over him with a grin, when did he get so close? The chattering comes back into focus and Frank realizes with horror that they’re egging Gerard on. Before he can tell him to stop, Gee cranks the nob, higher this time, and Frank is screaming, sobbing, scrambling under the current as he tries to escape but somehow, never considering the possibility of taking it off, never asking Gerard to stop. His bandmates peels of laughter beat through him like acid rain, boiling in his throat, he’s gonna be sick. 

And then, Gerard crouches and cards a finger through his hair. Frank almost misses it in his haze, a strange, almost condescending motion, so out of place in this moment, but he isn’t laughing, just staring at Frank with the same eyes that brought him here, that weird little expression he only ever shares with Mikey. 

Just like that its over. Ray’s unclipping the collar and Frank’s being hauled into the back of the van, the guys clapping his back and cheering, placing a joint into his hands, and they’re back on the road like nothing happened. It’s just a fucking joke, they’re just fucking around, just a dare. Frank smokes and laughs along even though he’s miles away, grasping at the air, sorting through puzzle pieces that he cant fit together. He tries to ignore the way Gerard has his arm draped over the seat, thumb pressing down, almost painfully at the little space above Frank’s jaw, behind his earlobe.

That night, Mikey emails Frank the video in a private thread with just him and Gerard. There’s no text, just the video and the subject line, “proud of u frnkie”. 

He tries to ignore that too.


End file.
